


Lost and Found

by TheModernDeath



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Bad Writing, Blood and Gore, Bullying, Collections - Freeform, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Drama, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Horror, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magic, Multi, Mutants, Occult, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, Violence, Werewolves, multi-story, writing dump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25513939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheModernDeath/pseuds/TheModernDeath
Summary: I've been writing for a while now...Like a long while. Like...over 22 years. That's right kiddies, I'm older than dirt. So because I have work saved that hasn't been updated, and won't be most likely, since 2011 and maybe before I'm going to dump it all here. Feel free to use whatever you'd like, if you'd like. Poke fun, roast it, just enjoy.It's a mix of things, occult horror, science fiction, young adult slice of life style stories. I've dabble in everything.





	1. First Lords

**Author's Note:**

> This first one had the working title "FIRST LORDS" it was last edited in 2011. The idea was that a 19 year old girl on her way home from college is kidnapped by vampires, one of which is her ancestor. She's partially a vampire somehow and when they turn her instead of also become a vampire she become the new apex predator. I never quite reached that point though.

I never imagined that things would turn out the way they did. I was only nineteen, still a kid in terms of life experience. I was impulsive, mean at times, and didn't like to stop for anyone or anything; but pulling off the road to help someone whose emergency flashers were on was commendable right? It wasn't worth a medal or reward, but that—stopping to help when I didn't have too—made me a good person didn't it? So why was everything going wrong?

My throat burned as I heaved the remains of my dinner onto the road, squeezing my eyes closed as tightly as I could. The image was scared into my mind though; the body was staring dully with wide eyes out of the drivers' side window, mouth gaping in a silent scream and neck torn opened, but not a drop of blood left on his flesh though his shirt was soaked in it. He was young, probably my age, probably on his way back to school from visiting his parents like I was. He could have gone to my school. This could have been me!

Tears leaked from my closed eyes, my body shuttering as I blindly dug for the cell phone in my pocket, and trying to remember which one it was in. My hands were shaking badly when I finally found it. Blindly, I tried to dial 911 and eventually had to make myself open my eyes so I could find the digits. As simple as they should have been to find, my mind was shaken and I couldn't.

A soft laugh broke the silence from inside the Jeep. The hair on the back of my neck stood and the chilling sensations of dread and fear filled me. I was frozen in my spot. Of course the person who'd done something like this, something so horrible, would still being around. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, from my fingers finally working enough to hit 911 to the rear window being torn out of the jeep as though it were paper. The sound was grating. Like rocks grinding against one another or something metal being drug across the ground. It made my skin crawl.

'Pick up,' I pleaded silently to the phone.

Pick up!

Pick up!

"Pick up!"

The face of a man appeared in the glassless window, grinning wildly. I thought I was going to be sick again. His skin was pale, and hair dark, almost like those men that played vampires in movies; but those were actors with human eyes. I'd never noticed before, how 'human' eyes could be until this moment. The man, his eyes were dark and hungry, and dangerous. They reflected the light in a way I'd only seen a cats eyes do. 

I swallowed heavily, glancing down at my phone and listening to the recorded message, I was on hold. 911 had put me on fucking hold! No longer was I simply afraid for my life; I was pissed that the one time I called for help I was put on hold. The combination confused me. I felt like I should be yelling and screaming at the phone and crying for my life that obviously about to end, but doing so could provoke the man who was still grinning in the window. He was planning to kill me, I could feel it, but he wasn't moving, just watching. My anger was overtaking my fear quickly. Knowing I was going to die, knowing I wasn't going to get any help from the police, knowing it was my own damn fault for wanting to be nice, and knowing my chances of escape were practically nonexistent pissed me off more than I'd been in years.

The cold feelings of dread and fear were fading but I could no longer control myself as I threw my phone violently against the ground. The crack it made as the screen shattered was satisfying to hear. I stood, the fight or flight response I should have already been feeling from the beginning was dull. Instead of trying to make me run or lash out my mind was running through scenarios. I wasn't pretty enough to charm my way out of the situation, and I wasn't smart enough to talk my way out of it. Even running and fighting were stupid ideas, but if I was going to die it wouldn't be without causing some kind of damage of my own.

"Who are you?!" My voice was painful to my ears, it was like listening to an angry child who was about to get a spanking. I backed away from the SUV slowly and was immediately in the arms of another. They were cold, whoever they were, and pressing their mouth to my neck. I ducked out of their arms quickly and shoved her.

She was smaller in size then I was but at least a hand taller; pale and blonde, with the same dark and hungry eyes as the man. She stumbled slightly from my push and looked shocked for a moment; her eyebrows raised and mouth opened. "Oh-ho!" she laughed, "You're a strong little thing, and feisty!"

"Who are you?!" I snapped again, spinning around, trying to decide how to position myself so my back wasn't facing either.

The woman smiled pleasantly. "You're not going to beg for your life?" she seemed to consider her words for a moment before speaking again. "You know, physically, you're no match for one of us and definitely not two. Why not run or try to talk your way out of it, like that boy?"

Like I hadn't already considered the alternatives, I sneered. "You're going to kill me regardless right?" I asked. Heat rushed through me, "He," I pointed towards rear of the SUV, "Just ripped that windows glass out like it was butter! You're probably as fast as you are strong, running won't do anything but get me killed faster and, possibly, more violently. Talking and begging didn't work for that guy, so why would I be an exception?" I clenched my jaw. "So, I might as well stay where I am right?"

The man laughed, popping the back of the jeep opened and sliding out easily. He was taller than the woman by only about a finger and the grin was still there and slowly strode forwards. My eyes shot between his hands and his face and then to his teeth. The canines were longer than what could be considered normal. "Even tempered despite the fact that you are facing death,"

Bristling slightly at his words, I straightened my back and looked him in the eyes. "I'm not even tempered right now! If I could I tear your head from your shoulders!" I almost wished for my childhood temper that had me sent into fits of rage to reappear, but that feeling scared me more than these two had so far; even if they were just playing with me a bit before ripping out my throat or eating me, or whatever they were going to do.

The woman laughed coldly, followed by a low chuckle from the male. "Feisty Feisty," She said, advancing on me. "Maybe we should keep you around for a while. You're an amusing little girl."

My arms were twisted behind my back in seconds. I hadn't even noticed the man moving behind me. "Who are you?" I tried a third time, with less force.

"I am Edgar, the woman before you is Bianca. We are what you might know as vampires. Of course, you can just call us, evolution." He hummed thoughtfully as I struggled against him.  
“Bianca is correct. You are a strong little human. We will be able to make good use of you."

"Fuck you!" I said, jerking my arms as hard as I could. A dull pop filled my ears and a scream erupted from my throat. My shoulder throbbed as though a knife had been shoved into the joint. My anger was fading, pain was in the forefront of my mind, and the worst part was I had done it to myself, not the weird wannabe vampire freaks. I could feel the dampness of my face clearly now. Had I stopped crying at all the entire time?

"Now, now," Bianca said calmly, like a mother soothing her child. "All that anguish is gonna make your flavor gamey." Her cold fingers gently wiped the tears from my face and the corners of my mouth.

In an act of defiance I bit her hard enough that the tangy metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, whether it was hers or mine, I didn't know. After that everything went black. There was nothing to feel or think about, no worries or cares, it was like sleeping. I was floating in purgatory, humming a gentle tune my mother sang to me as a child, and hoping I never had to leave.

***

Even if I were in a position to complain I don’t think I could have. Being held against my will was the only thing that was unacceptable about this whole experience. In all I was very well cared for. The room I was kept in was much larger than my bedroom at home and a bathroom could be found on the opposite wall of where I entered. The entire right wall from the entrance was bookshelf, and the left was filled with multiple windows. They didn’t open unfortunately, not in a way that would allow me to escape.

I rotated my arm in annoyance; a habit I’d begun in physical therapy to strengthen my limb after the minor dislocation was corrected. Even though I was probably being prepped for death in my captivity, I was provided with a physical therapist. It confused me at first; why would they bother sending maids and doctors if they were just going to rip out my throat like they’d done to the boy in the truck? There was a pleasant feeling of calm in the pit of my stomach. I was thankful for everything that was given to me.

No matter how big my talk was I was not ready for death. Prolonging it was the best thing I was given. The conditions were the second best. As it had been brought to my attention, I was one of best cared for captives in the house. Whether it was because of my injuries I didn’t know. What I did know, however, was that the others were kept in small barracks. My therapist informed me that the others, at least ten to a room that was described as dormitory size, had to share a bathroom. They were fed regularly, but overall lived in disgusting conditions. I didn’t look forward to being moved there. My sunrise view of the forest and mounds of books were wonderful; but in the end, I suppose it didn’t really matter.

The book I was reading rustled softly as I sat it to the side. It was the only form of entertainment I was allowed, though it was more than enough. A knock startled me. The heavy wooden door creaked ominously as it opened; a small dark haired woman with a nervous smile and a shaky hand stood in the entrance. “Master Edgar to see you, miss.” Her voice wavered. Perhaps she was afraid, but she was alive and clearly of use to these people. She would be dead otherwise, or down below with the others.

“Thank you Emily, you may go.” Edgar said as he entered the room. He smiled at her, showing off his sharp white teeth. It was hard to miss it as the girls’ eyes lit up and her smile grew less hesitant. So she wasn’t afraid of him like I had assumed? What was it then; me perhaps? That seemed like a silly notion, though probably not impossible. I frowned. Every time I became used to my conditions, something changed or confused me and threw me off kilter. Things either became scarier, or more odd.

“How have you been these last days, Kelcy?” He asked, smiling as he sat on the arm of a chair. “It’s been little over three weeks. How is your arm?”

“A little stiff,” I said automatically, as if I were talking to a doctor. His words lingered in my mind though; three weeks. Had it really already been twenty-one days? Had I been reported missing? I must have, my family didn’t go two days without a phone call from me, let alone three weeks. They were undoubtedly worried. They must have been; there was no possible way my absence was going unnoticed. My car had been abandoned on the side of the road with a corpse and I wasn’t at school, it must have been noticed. People had to be looking.

I swallowed tightly. My pulse was throbbing in my ears. “I want to go home,” I whined, not really intending for Edgar to hear.

“That’s not a possibility,” His voice was calm, though it held no warmth. “You can identify us. It will not accomplish much to do so, but it would be likely to cause problems for us and it would be a waste of such potential.”

Though me eyes were shut tightly, and my blood was making it somewhat hard to hear, I could make out the sounds of the man shuffling across the room towards me. A chilled hand touched my face, and I immediately jerked away, throwing myself as far from him as I could and taking up a candelabrum as a weapon. I breathed heavily, forcing opened my eyes. Dark hair hung across my face in tangles. “Potential for what? To be like you? I won’t kill people!”

“When the time comes you won’t have a choice.” He straightened himself and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Put on whatever it is the maids bring for you. You go to the pit at eleven.”

It felt as though my stomach had dropped to my feet. The pit? “What’s the pit?”

“You’ll see,” Was the only response he gave. It was sharp and almost unkind as he swiftly exited the room.

The pit; whatever it was I wasn’t looking forward to it. It almost sounded like slang for a medieval form of torture. No one had mentioned this pit to me yet. Were they not allowed to? Maybe the pit was what they called the barracks. The place where people more undesirable than me resided sounded better than a torture chamber, but it still wasn’t a place I wanted to be. The physical therapist had called them primitive, living by instinct, and maybe it was vane but I was beginning to change my mind on what I hoped for. A torture chamber would be much better.

I pushed myself up and stumbled to the bathroom, bracing myself against the sink and hissing at my arm throbbed. I caught my eyes in the mirror and looked up. The bags underneath them looked worse, making my dark eyes even darker and my pale skin even whiter. The knob squeaked as I turned on the hot water and splashed it in my face. It didn’t help much, but I felt less panicked. As I came back to the room and allowed my body to sink back into the chair I’d occupied, before Edgar had come, the shadows from the window caught my attention. It was completely dark out and being allowed no clock to tell me the hour, I had no idea how long it would be before I was removed to the pit. My heart sank to my feet. The worry was going to eat away at me; in the end I took up the book next to me and began reading.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour later when there was a soft rap on the door. A chill ran up my spine as the hinges groaned. The sound was worse than it had ever been. Like nails on a chalk board or a knife scraping against a plate, it made me clench my teeth together so tightly I was sure they’d shatter.

Calmly as possible I stood to greet the maids who were bringing me the last thing I would likely wear. Two of them stood before me, clad in traditional maid outfits. Carefully, the outfit was placed in my hands and one of the women immediately left. The other closed the door gently and stood just in front of it.

“Please dress, miss.” She said coolly, placing her hands behind her back.

I swallowed heavily and nodded, quickly making my way back to the bathroom.

“Not there, miss.” The maid snapped. “If you were to lock yourself in it would cause a ruckus that would sure disturb the masters of this house, and you would be late for your appointment. Please change here.”

“O-of course.” Instead I went back to my chair and unfolded the pile. Surprisingly, it was a simple pair of spandex biker shorts and under armour. It was uncomfortable, but not nearly as bad as what I had expected. Somehow I imagined something a person would see in an action movie, something that looked cool but wasn’t practical. This, however, was unexpected. I hummed. “Are there shoes?”

“No,” the woman responded. “Now, come.”

“Wait! So I’m going to have to be barefooted?”

The maid seemed irritated. “Do you not have the shoes you arrived in?”

“Edgar took them. He said if I somehow made it outside I wouldn’t get very far without them.” I frowned, hoping this woman would take pity on me and help me find something to cover my feet with. She instead sneered, clenching her hands, and continued out the door; her voice echoing in the hall.

“I guess that means you don’t have shoes then.”

My mouth snapped closed. She was cruel, though I suppose it didn’t really matter. I wasn’t even sure where we were going or what I was going to be doing. All I knew was it involved something called the ‘pit’ and the context in which Edgar spoke of it left a disturbing feeling in my stomach and a bitter taste on my tongue.

Thumping echoed through the hall every time my feet connected to the hardwood floors. The maid took long strides that left me jogging to keep up. Very few people passed us, and those who did were usually maids and butlers who pressed themselves so tightly against a wall I almost expected them to sink into it. Rarely did a vampire appear before us—the ones who did were grinning madly—but in the back of my mind I knew they were all around.

Jogging down a flight of stairs I noticed the surroundings suddenly changing. Wood paneled walls became cinderblock, painted over with a glossy white, the wooden floors became tiled and a faint stench of excrement wafted to my nose. My gag reflex came alive; we were nearing the barracks. It was the only plausible explanation, and as the smell grew stronger so did the churning in my stomach. Then suddenly a piercing scream echoed down the hall. Were they killing each other?

It seemed likely; after all, these were people who were trapped in a confined space with others who had likely witnessed the deaths of their families or friends. Deaths caused by the freaks that were putting her in this position; but then, maybe death was a godsend for these people who were hardly people at all anymore. If she couldn’t kill them for herself, maybe should could kill them for them. If she had to be like these freaks, and could retain her humanity, she could do something for the prisoners.

The quick walk down the hallway seemed like an eternity. The constant tapping of my feet, and the maids, were the only things that allowed me to realize we were still moving. Then we began slowing for real. Windows began appearing on the walls, empty rooms filled with Bunks and a door inside, likely leading to a bathroom. My heart felt like it was dying, and the smell was worse than ever. This was hell if there’d ever been one.

Another shrill scream echoed towards us, but this time it was much louder and closer. I stopped for a moment. A strong pull in my throat caused me to swallow as my mouth began to salivate, preparing itself for the vomit that was threatening to force its’ way out. This fear was the worse I’d felt yet. I wasn’t prepared for this. I wasn’t prepared for the cold hand gripping my wrist and dragging me forward either. Then they were there.

“Choose,” the maid said. Her dark eyes turned towards me. “If you win the battle, the one you choose will be your pet. You will take your first meal from the one you choose, and if they survive you can do with them what you please.”

Pressure built within me as I turned my eyes to face the window. Dozens of bodies were piled into this one room. They appeared to be healthy, though a bit filthy. One of the women was screeching as she tried to scale the walls—the reason for the terrifying screams that boomed down the corridors—and many of the others watched her with either mild amusement or disgust. They were all younger, probably not over the age of thirty; the youngest one I could see looked about ten. He was so small with his thin, scraggly, limbs; oily hair blonde hair hung down to his shoulders and covered most of his dirt covered face. He looked like he hadn’t eaten properly in weeks; as though he hadn’t been trying to survive at all.

I licked my lips and swallowed in an attempt to alleviate the bile that was still trying to rise up. “Him,” I pointed, pressing my finger to the cool glass. “The little one.”

The maid nodded as if making a note of it and turned on her heel, walking further down the hall. I didn’t want to follow. I was terrified, but I did anyhow. If that poor boy survived the first thing I was going to do was release him, if I could…God, I hoped he did. I hoped I could. Even my offset moral compass couldn’t rationalize this.

The hallway began to narrow, becoming colder and darker. The bright, incandescent, lights faded as the walls abruptly changed from painted over cinderblock to their original rough gray. Twitching began in my fingers when I noticed the floors began to change. Smooth tile became river rock with dirt sweeping out of the cracks between them.

“Back there,” I said quietly. “That was the barracks right?”

The woman nodded. “Yes.”

“And the place we’re going is the pit?” She nodded again. I was silent for a moment, sadness overcame me. “I’m going to have to kill someone or die aren’t I?”

“You will,” She said. “All of the new recruits have to go through it to be sure that they are strong. Most of us will have to fight several times. All of the maids and butlers you see here, we are competing to stay alive for as long as we can.”

“What about those people back there?”

She scoffed. “They are pets. Once a new vampire is made they are given the choice of which one they would like. If the owner so chooses they make turn their pet into a vampire as well, but not without having them compete with the rest of us. Those are the rules.”

There were rules? Then was I going to become a maid if I won this? No, that couldn’t be right; that bastard, Edgar, would have said something if I were going to be serving people and whatnot. This whole situation was causing my emotions and natural bodily responses to go haywire. The sadness that had encapsulated me for a brief period was once again changing, but I couldn’t decide if I were horrified or not. Tremors were still wracking my body, the idea of killing another person terrified me; I didn’t think I could do it, but the adrenaline that began pumping though me said otherwise, especially after my revelation.

“I’m going to be turned if I win this aren’t I?”

She stopped, smiling sadly. “Edgar has made you the exception. He thinks once you’ve become like them, you will be most powerful. You will only have to kill as a mortal once.”

“But why? I don’t understand this!” My fingers dug into my hair, pulling it violently. “This whole situation is shit! I just want to go home and live my life like a normal person and pretend none of this ever happened!”

The sound of flesh connecting filled the hall. I dropped immediately, clutching my cheek and fighting the tears that sprang into my eyes. The skin on my face was sticking and hot. It took a moment for me to comprehend that I’d just been smacked, but I couldn’t feel betrayed. This woman hadn’t liked me from the beginning, showing a bit of remorse didn’t change that, but that didn’t help my hurt pride.

“Be happy,” She snapped. “You haven’t had to watch your friends or family die; or be the one to kill them! The way you’re behaving is offensive to all those who have fought to survive here; as if it weren’t insulting enough that you would only have to do this once and not suffer as the rest of us have, you also have to act like a child!”

I was nineteen; that was hardly a child, right? Legally I was an adult, so that made me one didn’t it? I groaned as the maid pulled me back to my feet and drug me the rest of the distance down the hall. As we drew closer and closer to the doors at the end it struck me; I was really going to have to do this. I was really going to have to kill some random person to save myself and possibly that little boy. To save two lives was better than one though right? But there was only a small chance that the boy would survive. Shit.


	2. Evolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Evolution" was written in 2012. I think it was for an assignment in my college English class. We had a free write in the group post so I just quickly came up with this.

It seems like, with each passing day, our numbers double. Just a few years ago there were barely five thousand of us known. We did our best to fit in with the crowds; to be come as invisible as the next man despite our differences. 

Our population has expanded by an estimated 1,000% since then. It becomes more difficult to hide as the demographic grows, and with every wasted second our hunters draw even closer. You see, our genetic make-up is valuable—it gives insight into the infinite possibilities of human adaptability—but because of that, it also opens us up to prejudice and fear from our peers.

The Government, once we register for the treatments—DNA procurement—watches us to ensure that we do nothing to endanger their research. It was helpful at first, especially to those who have evolved more physically; it’s hard not to be gawked at when your skin is green, or polka dotted, and in some cases illuminating. Quickly, as the population grows, it seems as though we become less and less human to them, and more like some animal population that is only useful for harvesting genes from.

We’ve done our best to escape, but we’re quickly found. Sub-dermal Global Identification (SGI) locators have started being implanted near the base of our skulls. In a basic sense they’re just GPS devices implanted under the skin, but they’re difficult to remove and hard to heal from unless you’re lucky enough to rapidly regenerate; otherwise, it’s not likely to come out.

Our tent cities move every other day to avoid the hunters. The locators that haven’t been removed are relatively low quality, only accurate up to three-tenths a mile and absolutely invisible once we’ve hit the forests. Occasionally we’re lucky enough to find a person with a GPS signal jammer. Usually they move on, easily able to make their way around as any other person would. We have collected a few, but most of them are useless. The devices are expensive and, even when we have them, they’re either only usable when plugged into a car or have to be altered to fully cover the signal the SGI gives off.

We still have to be careful, even when our signal is blocked. When new people join us, or walk into our camp, they are watched for days before they’re given anymore than a place to sleep and a little food. There has been the question, ’Doesn’t that make you just like the people you’re trying to escape?’ Maybe it does, but the intention isn’t to harm anyone. We have more than just ourselves to think about. Not everyone in the tent city is an adult; there are just as many, if not more, teens and small children. They are the top priority.


	3. About Tripp Avery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This didn't even have a working title. It was last edited in 2012 and I can't remember what the context was or what it was supposed to be about. I think it might have been the beginnings of something that I ended up making later on. I don't hate it lol. I think it had the potential to be really cute.

He was my bully, I was his victim; our relationship was uncomplicated. During the morning hours, just before classes started, he would come to art hall where I sat with my friends and send jibes in my direction. It didn’t bother me like it should have; I was confident in myself, in my abilities, and in my intelligence. Comments about my sexuality did set me off, but it was much more than just name calling. Yelling ‘Fag’ or ‘Queer’ like it would somehow demean me was the worst.

Perhaps he had no understanding of people, what was and was not acceptable; or perhaps he just didn’t care. Tripp Avery was my bully and our relationship was uncomplicated.

My way of thinking was always strange. When I was nine, maybe ten, I remember watching those daytime talk shows about teens needing help, or make overs, or something. One show caught my attention; a female host sauntered down the rows between chairs talking to a Georgia man about his son and how ashamed he was to be seen with him. I expected to be disgusted as the boy walked out onto the stage; instead I was awed. Never had I seen anything like him. He was unique to my eyes, bowing at the waist as he came on screen; his eye makeup was thick and black and a cloak was billowing around him as he turned and went to his seat. Later, after the teens had been given their make overs under the guise of helping, I was devastated.

To this day I believe that one episode is what made me who I am. I don’t ever remember believing that gay is inherently wrong, that dressing in black and chains was an indication of satanic presence, or that a boy wearing makeup was socially unacceptable; it was just the way some people were. Some would grow out of it, others wouldn’t, but it wasn’t my place to judge others based on shallow opinions. People could be notoriously cruel about different perceptions of beauty.

So, two years ago when I stepped into my new high school about halfway through freshman year, dressed well in polished shoes, a dapper vest and bowtie, my fate was sealed. I met Tripp Avery that same day. He wasn’t bad at first; every now and then I would catch curious glances in my direction. In some cases he’d be openly staring, but there was never any hostility; but I digress. My name is Noelle Clark, Tripp Avery was my bully and our relationship was uncomplicated.

Our junior year of high school was half over; only a year and a half more in which I had to endure the mistreatment. Very few other students were victimized by the six foot three baseball star. The ones who were, generally, had done something to him personally; or they were like me. Boys who dressed or acted as if they had a single feminine bone in their bodies were on his list and brutalized on sight. I was not exempt from this rule, though he didn’t often beat me up himself. I think he was just giving me a sporting chance; I was small and fast, but he was on the baseball team and fast by default. He could catch me easily. Without him helping the only way a successful beating had ever been carried out was when I was cornered; usually on club days when I stayed late. I supposed I could have avoided the physical bullying all together if I stopped my club activities; I was only there for social purposes anyhow.

“Noelle,” Allison called down the hallway just as I was leaving my locker. “You’re coming today, right? We need you for auditions.”

I felt a grimace form across my face. “No, I think I’m just going home.” The play was Romeo and Juliet, I could appreciate it since it was Shakespeare, but the way teachers and girls fawned over it was nauseating. The auditorium was sure to be full of theatre students discussing which roles they wanted and who they thought was most suited for the part. On some level I did want to stay, to see Allison audition for the role of the nurse and work on the set; but my locker hadn’t been surrounded today which meant I had a good chance of getting home without being harassed in some way.


	4. Werewolf-Draft 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last edited in 2012...There was no working title for this either. Not initially anyhow. I do have another version I had begun working on maybe a year later? I'm not sure.
> 
> I was 22 at the time so it still reeks of a shallow mindset. The idea was the Samantha is from a family of werewolves, though she doesn't know it and they keep it from her. She only finds out because a new pack moves into her town. Shocker, she's also pregnant from a fling she had at the beach which was actually with the man who would be taking over the pack that just moved in. It was going to be long and dramatic and full of mysticism. 
> 
> I'm still actually working on developing traits of werewolf breeds and species. It's fun, but I don't see me continuing it in this format.

Most times, when a teenager thinks something is the end of the world, they’re just being dramatic. The ‘world’ is centered around them and the smallest thing can drive them to their limits. The same goes for most adults. Something so small, a spilled drink or mud on the carpet, can cause a ridiculous amount of anger and frustration.

My sister is like this, my parents are like this; and I? I am most likely cut from the same mold. Honestly, I like to believe I’m more level headed than the rest of my family, but my family is also in the top 5 when it comes to drama. They could begin an argument based on how well one of them understands what was said. It was this attitude that made me run off in the first place.

A failing grade on my college report equated to a life at a dead end job and barely enough money to pay my bills. So I left. Clothes were half-heartedly stuffed in my backpack, pillows and blankets were shoved in the trunk of my car and a five hour drive later found me sitting in the sun-warmed sand. A chilly breeze blew off the ocean, brushing over my skin and raising goose bumps. I pulled my knees closer to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.

“Cold?” A rough voice came from directly beside of me.

I jerked and tumbled to the side. A tall man laid ten feet from me with dark, tanned, skin. He was lounging on a blanket with a pen in hand and a notebook lain out in front of him. The pen made small scratching sounds as he scribbled vigorously. His forearm flexed every now and again. A twinge of jealousy ran through me. His abundance of arm hair probably protected him from the ocean breeze. I had very little of it compared to my family, compared to this guy; hell, even compared to normal folks I didn’t have much hair. Everyone else in the world might as well have been bears.

My face began to heat rapidly as the man looked up; the sun made his dark eyes sparkle. There was no doubt in my mind that my face was burning red; the smirk on his face was a testament to that. I turned away quickly to avoid the intense stare and the dreadful, awkward, feeling only grew as his laughter did. Covering my face in embarrassment only seemed to make me feel worse. God, I was mortified.

“Come on over here, Carrot top,” He said as a torrent of sand was dispensed into my hair. “What’s your name?”

“You threw sand at me? And don’t call me carrot top.” I mumbled accusingly into my hands. Uncovering my face, I glanced at him. He was young looking, probably only a few years older than myself. His demeanor was playful and, though I was completely mortified, I couldn’t help but smile. “Samantha.” I said carefully.

He grinned and rolled onto his side. “Jonathan Lowell.” His smile widened. “So, why’s a high schooler like you not at school?”

I glared; did I really look so young? That was impossible. “I am not a high schooler! I’m twenty years old!”

“Goodness, you’re right! Your an old hag! Unlike me lovely twenty-six year old self!”

“Are you sure you don’t mean forty?” I grumbled.

“Oh, you wound me!” Jonathan said clutching his chest.

I smirked a little. “It’s not that hard, old folks like you are brittle.”

He began laughing again. “Come on over here kid, the sand is cold, you can share my blanket.”

To decline was the first thing that came to mind, but a rush of cold air had me quickly changing my mind. What could it hurt? I pushed myself up, dusting the sand from my jeans and shaking it out of my hair as best I could, and trudged over to the other side of the man. The blanket was cool at first but quickly heated beneath me.

“Thanks,” I said, turning my sights to the ocean. The water appeared to be losing some of its sparkle, though it could have been because the sun was no longer in the center of the sky. It hung behind of us, warming our backs as it drifted west. The familiar sound of rustling paper caught my attention. Jonathan was sitting cross legged, stuffing his things in a bag, “What were you writing?” I asked.

His bag crackled as he readjusted the Velcro. “Just something for work,” he turned his head. “So what brings you to the beach this time of the year?”

I hummed. The horribly bad mood I had arrived with was lightening significantly.


	5. Taquin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My last edit date is 2019 on this one, but I'm pretty sure I just fixed a typo I found when reading through it. I do believe this might have been started in 2013 or 2014 though.
> 
> It's an update of the snippet of werewolf story that I posted immediately before this one. I don't hate it. It's a big improvement anyhow.
> 
> Jordan is part of a werewolf family, but doesn't know it until her little sister spills the beans. A new pack is in town and forms an alliance with her family but because she's human she's not accepted. blah blah blah. It was intended to be a supernatural romance, but I'm really bad at writing romance.

The town of Taquin was a quiet place; a rural community located just beyond the borders of the national forest. It was a historic town—though it didn’t seem such. It could have been because of the vacationers, the wealthy families who had bought up all of the properties on the lake, or it could have been the communities packed so tightly a child couldn’t even slip between the houses, but the culture of the area no longer held strong to its French origins. Certainly there were hints of it in the architecture, and in the museum, but that was all.

Jordan had grown up in the area—though not inside the borders of the township—for the greater portion of her life. She’d played in the trees, navigating her way into the forest and leaped into the streams which cut the ground. She was home among the foliage; she felt faster than the wind, invincible, and special. Even in times where there had been bear sightings or coyotes in the area she never felt ill at ease. They were dangerous creatures, especially to a child, but the simple childlike naivety had kept any fear at bay.

It was when she hit her teens that the fear had begun rising in her. Her mother had become pregnant and given birth and in that time she had been forbidden from entering the woods in case something was to happen and neither her mother nor father would be able to make it to her in time. It had the promise of being only temporary but she no longer felt at home among the great pines that were so easily uprooted by wind and rain. She no longer felt safe from the coyotes and rattlesnakes, rather she was more aware of every sound around her; paranoid that the birds and bugs would go silent from the yowl of a wild dog or rumble of a bear, and she would be killed. She no longer saw herself as the apex predator she’d believed herself to be after having been separated from her playground for so long.

Twenty now, Jordan still rarely traveled beyond the boarder of her backyard, only crossing the tree line to retrieve the stray ball carelessly tossed into the woods by her little sister—now seven years old. Being able to see the house curbed her fears, but she was still instantly on edge when she left the territory she’d deemed safe.

“Jordan!” Morgan came running to her from the dirt road that connected their yard to the fields behind their home, leaves sticking out of her fair hair and dirt on her face. Morgan wasn’t allowed to play in the area alone, but that didn’t stop her from wandering off that way when there were no eyes on her.

Today was different. Their aunt was visiting, a short, round, woman with dark hair and eyes too small for her face; and with her came Jordan’s cousin Bridget. Bridget was a few years older than Morgan and looked very much the same as her little sister.

Jordan caught the small girl as she collided with her midsection. “What is it?”

Morgan sniffled, rubbing her snotty nose across Jordan’s work shirt. “Bridget took my dolly and threw it in the woods!”

Sighing, Jordan ran a hand across her sister’s head, trying to ignore the slimy, damp, mucus seeping into her clothes. “Come on, I’ll get it back for you.”

“Are you sure?” The little girl pulled away, though still clung to her sister’s hand. “I know you don’t like going in the woods.”

“Well,” Jordan said, ruffling her own long, red, curls. “Dad’s having a talk with Aunt Miriam so we shouldn’t bother him; besides, it’s easy to be brave when you know someone else is afraid with you.”

The little girl seemed to bristle at those words. “I’m not afraid!” She said. “Mommy says I’m not old enough to go in the woods alone.”

Jordan didn’t say anything, but smiled at her sister and held her hand as they walked the dusty path to the field where trees sat in neat stacks to dry and to later be split for the wood pile. Bridget was climbing up one when Jordan finally spotted her. Straining her ears, she listened for anything threatening now that they were out of her safe zone. Birds and bugs still made their calls and buzzed around; the only threatening sound was the off key singing that came from her younger cousin.

“Bridget,” Jordan said loudly as they got nearer, catching the child’s attention. “Did you throw something of Morgan’s in the woods?” The instant response was a high pitched ‘no’.

Morgan shrieked. “You did so Bridget! You threw my dolly into the woods at the other end of the field!”

“So,” Bridget snapped. “Dolls are for babies.”

“Show me where you threw it, Bridget.” Jordan said. “If you do I won’t tell dad.”

“Uncle James isn’t your dad!”

“Just show me where you threw the doll, Bridget.” Jordan said again, growing more irritated.

Disgruntled and pouting the ten year old climbed down from the pile of lumber, leading them to the tree line on the far side of the field. The property line, Jordan realized from the—distant—little neon flags left over from a land survey. This was where the doll probably had been thrown. Jordan frowned. Bridget must have been ‘queen bee-ing’, trying to elevate herself in the family’s hierarchy; but the family, while it did have a noticeable one, wasn’t the kind of place a person could elevate themselves through being mean.

James Brantley, Jordan’s adoptive father, was unquestionably the head of their family. Everyone came to him when they had a problem, and if he couldn’t solve it her mother usually could. Miriam, her aunt and Bridget’s mother, seemed to want that position and had perhaps rubbed some bad habits off onto her daughter. Jordan wasn’t certain though, and she couldn’t judge them based on her intuition; she’d never raised a child after all and was for the most part left out of the problems facing members of her family.

Bridget stopped a few feet from the property line and pointed. “It’s over there, but that’s not my family’s land right? So you can’t go over there.”

The cloth doll was clearly visible on top of the leaves roughly fifteen feet from where they stood. Jordan shook her head and took several easy steps to the property line and crossed with little mind to the flags marking the new territory. She’d crossed the border in her childhood, and while the land had changed owners, she didn’t think its’ new one would care that she’d once again crossed onto it.

“The property owner isn’t going to care if I only cross to retrieve something.” She said. “It would be more of a hassle for them and us if we had to find them, ask permission and then have them meet us here.”

Brushing the leaves from the fabric of the doll Jordan paused. Something was wrong. Where were the birds? Where were the sounds of squirrels chittering and bugs buzzing? She clenched her teeth and forced a smile as she spun around, tossing the doll back over to her family’s property.

“There,” She said with a forced calm. “Bridget, take Morgan back to the house, I’ll follow behind, okay?”

“Why should I?”

“ _Bridget,_ ” The tone seemed to jerk the little girl into an upright position. “Grab the doll, walk Morgan slowly back towards where you were playing. Then run towards the house.” She didn’t dare move, with the chill now running up her spine. “Don’t look back.”

“Yes.” She answered, stumbling forwards the two or three feet it took for her to get close enough to the doll.

Jordan stood still, waiting for Morgan and Bridget to disappear from her sight before she dared move. That was the proper thing to do, right? No sudden movements; move slowly so the creature or predator doesn’t feel threatened or give chase? She crept slowly back through the flags that marked her families property and hoped whatever it was that had made the woods go silent wasn’t going to spring out and attack. Maybe it was just her own presence; it had been several years since she’d been more than a couple of feet beyond the tree line so she couldn’t remember whether it was normal or not.

With slow, conscious, steps and not looking back Jordan made it to the lumber pile and felt herself begin to relax, at least until the alarm on her phone began screeching.

“Shit!” She was going to be late for work.

* * *

“Have a nice evening!” Jordan said from behind the cash register. The customer smiled and returned the sentiment, a regular at the small pizzeria as most of the patrons were.

Catherine, the manager, approached her with a confused expression. “Are you alright?” She asked. “You been off all day.”

It was true. She’d been ten minutes late, nearly dropped every pie that had been placed in her hands, and had forgotten multiple tables orders; a reason she was now banished to the register. If there was more she hadn’t noticed, but Catherine probably had. “I’m fine.” She said. “My baby cousin is staying with us for summer and she and Morgan have been fighting. Bridget’s trying to be queen bee.”

“That’s all?” Catherine asked, skeptical of her younger coworker.

Jordan shook her head. “I had to go get Morgan’s doll out of the woods today and I don’t like being in the woods to begin with, but today it felt like there was something dangerous. I’m probably still a little shaken from that.”

“ _Ha_ , what’s going to get you in the woods around here, a bobcat or a coyote? You’re more likely to be accidentally shot by a hunter during the day.” Catherine laughed, shaking her head and the curly brown mop of hair on top of it.

She was right of course. The woods did have bears, coyotes, bobcats and foxes among other things, but most of the creatures that could cause significant harm were nocturnal. That didn’t stop the fear from shooting up Jordan’s spine but it did help calm her down now that she was safe.

“Good evenin’,” She called out habitually as the doors opened, causing the little bell above to jingle, and began pulling at the hem of her shirt.

“So you’re alright?” Catherine asked. “If you are, I’m taking my lunch break and you can take your tables back.”

“I’m fine.” Jordan answered. “No big deal, right?”

“Call me if you need anything.” Catherine said with a serious tone. “I mean it, Leon’s gonna rat you out if you don’t.”

“Thanks.” Jordan was smiling, preparing to face the customer that had come up to the register as Catherine disappeared from sight. “Can I help you?” She asked.

The boy in front of her couldn’t have been more than fifteen but he was surely a heart breaker. Aside from the ball cap, and socks with sandals, he certainly had the ‘tall dark and handsome’ look down pat. She did notice the pale splotches across his darker hands as he leaned forwards onto the counter. Vitiligo, she’d learned briefly about it in biology during their study of dominant and recessive genes. That had been years ago and honestly she was surprised she even remembered the name.

“Do you have room for a party of…”He paused briefly, ticking off fingers as he counted in his head, “Ten?”

Jordan looked around the room from the counter. It was clearly obvious that there was room for a large party, the first wave of dinner rush having filtered out. “Yeah, we do. Want me to push some tables together for you?”

The boy grinned. “Yes please!” he said. “I’ll be back in minute!”

Pushing the tables together wasn’t a difficult job—though busing them quickly before the large family could come back in was proving to be a challenge. It shouldn’t have been, it wasn’t a hard job, but her unsteady hands prevented her from getting a firm grip on anything. If it weren’t for the cart which held the bucket and waste she would surely have dropped everything from the table to the floor.

It didn’t take long to get the dirty cutlery and dishes to the back so they could be put in the wash, but it was long enough for her to return to the party seating themselves and a ball of energy throwing its arms around her waist. Morgan rubbed her face against Jordan’s midsection and grinned, pulling her towards the table.

“Momma, Daddy!” The little girl said, loud and happy. “We’re in Jordan’s section tonight!”

Smiling, Jordan allowed herself to be dragged by the seven year old to the table of ten. Miriam and Bridget had relegated her to the end with the teenaged girl and the boy who looked about the same age—twins then maybe—it was an out of place seating that in their home would never have been accepted. She didn’t say anything about it however and instead went around the table starting with the heads and working her way down.

It wasn’t unlike any other time her family came to eat dinner at the pizzeria, but at the same time it was. There was tension around both sides of the table, even around her seven year old sister who was giving the older girl across from her curious glances. “Morgan,” Jordan laid a hand on her shoulder. “Pink lemonade?” The child grinned and nodded.

“You spoil her.” Miriam said. “She should be drinking water.”

“Morgan always has pink lemonade when mom and dad eat here.” Jordan said simply. “Besides, you’re letting Bridget have soda. That’s a bit hypocritical isn’t it?”

“You’re not the boss here, darling.” Miriam said.

Jordan didn’t wait for her parents interference, she never did. They’d taught her from a young age that she needed to stand up for herself, especially when she reached her mid-teens and the cousins she once played with began alienating her. _‘Make new friends.’_ Her father had told her. _‘You’re strong enough that you don’t need them to like you. You don’t need their validation.’_ He’d been right. She was happier when she wasn’t kowtowing to her cousins, even if it did cause her more trouble and occasional anxiety.

Giving her aunt a long look Jordan nodded and redirected her attention. “Mom, dad, Morgan wants pink lemonade, is that fine?”

James nodded. “She always gets pink lemonade.”

Simple, though it would have been inappropriate around any other customer. Miriam always seemed to get confrontational around company, and unnecessarily so. Her cousins did too, as if it were some sort of territorial reaction. She had no illusions about why either. She was adopted by James Brantley, since she was barely old enough to remember, and that seemed to be the point upon which the entire family harped.

Dinner was overall a terrible event. Her parents grew more and more like her extended family as the night grew on, and the family across from them seemed to be the catalyst. She’d been working most of the evening, dealing with new customers as they came in, taking turns with the other waitresses at the register and cleaning tables, but as she would walk by with a bucket or a tray full of drinks she could easily pick up parts of the conversation.

It was first about her, she was certain. The very clear word _‘adopted’_ had been used multiple times to which the second family had used _‘atrocious”_ and _‘pathetic’_ though Jordan didn’t actually know the context in which the words were used, only that they were directed towards her if the smug look on her aunts face held any meaning. She didn’t say anything but simply did her job.

Catherine had come back at some point, retaking the section that Jordan had been babysitting; the same section her family was seated. It was almost a relief.

“Your parents were weird tonight.” Catherine said as the families headed to the door.

“Yeah,” Jordan watched her father at the register as he paid for the meal. She waited. Normally either he or her mother would come, kiss her on the head and tell her to have a safe evening. He didn’t even make eye contact as he left the restaurant. Something in her felt unsettled.

“That was cold.” Catherine said.

“Yeah,” Jordan said once more. She steeled her emotions, locking them in for the time being.

It was just like her father’s family—close as children, but either she had changed in a negative way or they had. She had become the odd man out and she had no idea why. No one would tell her how to fix it, or why it had happened to begin with, just that it had.

Jordan cried that night when she arrived home, a rare occurrence that few had seen and even fewer outside of her family. She was masterful when he came to pushing negativity aside; perhaps it was due to her childhood of being ignored by her cousins, or maybe it was born of the time when her parents had expected her to be well behaved because of Morgan being born. Jordan didn’t really care the reason; she just wanted the pain in her chest to stop.

It was a tight feeling, as if her lungs had been constricted and her heart pounded violently to pump blood with the consistency of jelly through her veins. She was afraid and alone. It had been so long since she’d felt there was no one in the world for her to go to. It had been even longer since she’d felt the overwhelming fear that they wouldn’t come back.

“Jordan?” Morgan knocked gently at the door and opened it slowly. She slipped in with little noise and before Jordan could steady her voice the little girl had climbed into her bed. “I don’t like them.” She said.

Jordan wrapped her arms around her little sister. “Who?” She whispered.

“The people we ate dinner with.” Morgan said. “They weren’t nice.”

“Not everyone will be nice the first time you meet them.” Jordan said. “I’m sure you’ll learn to like them.”

“No I won’t.” Morgan’s voice grew rough as it tended to when she was sleepy. “They made daddy hurt your feelings.”

Burying her face in Morgan hair Jordan sighed, feeling relief that she wasn’t sure how to obtain. “I’m fine Morgan, I’m sure it was just an accident.”

“No!” The little girl sat up. “It was on purpose! Daddy said you aren’t pack so now he can’t be nice to you when they’re around!”

“Pack?” Jordan laughed a little. “Has Bridget been telling you lies?”

Morgan whined loudly. “No! Jordan, I’m serious! Daddy won’t be nice when they’re around now because you’re not a wolf, so you’re not pack.”

Jordan could hear the tears in her voice, the way Morgan’s childish tone grew almost forced as she did her best not to cry. “Hey,” Jordan stroked her hair as she rolled to turn on the floor lamp. “We’ll talk to dad in the morning okay? He’ll tell you…” She paused for a long moment, taking in her sister’s state. The change was small, barely noticeable, but the ferocity of her eyes was alarming on a seven year old and brought heavy attention to the change. The iris, though the color remained had grown larger giving her eyes a doll like appearance and reflected the light in a predatory fashion. “…He’ll tell you…”

Morgan looked away as if she knew, and began rubbing her eyes. “I’m scared.” She said. “I don’t want to be like aunt Mariam or Bridget.”

Jordan stroked her hair again. “You won’t.” She said easily. “Sometimes you won’t be nice, but that’s okay, just try your best.”


	6. Taquin 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the incomplete second "chapter" to the previous post. I've forgotten how much I enjoyed these characters, even if they are kind of whiny and know it alls. Though honestly, even now I write know it all's lol.

It was like a dream. Jordan sat in her room for the better part of a day not so much avoiding her family, but rather contemplating what she’d seen…Or thought she’d seen. Her sister’s eyes, those typically bright blue eyes, had been animalistic; reflecting the light like a predator’s. Surely it had been a dream. More than once had she dreamed of her family turning into wolves—though sometimes it was ghosts or superheros instead—but those eyes reminded her of that and now couldn’t be attributed to Saturday morning cartoons.

It had felt real. She’d been able to feel her sister’s hair when she’d patted it; she’d turned the lights on and known the difference and the locations didn’t change. She’d told Morgan everything would be okay and they’d gone to sleep and when she woke up the little girl was gone. The low rumbles of arguing had been notable in the silence of morning, Morgan’s higher pitch easily over taking the hushed voices of her parents. Jordan had opted to go back to sleep rather than listen.

When Jordan woke again the previous days evens came to the forefront of her mind. Upset as she was by her mom and dad she found herself more focused on the strange dreams plaguing her; If they were dreams at all.

Leaning back against the wall Jordan closed her eyes. It was almost time to get ready for class. She didn’t want to go though. Instead if she could just sleep for the rest of the day it would be great. She wouldn’t get away with it though. Morgan would eventually barge in and force her out to play.

Jordan pulled herself from the warm embrace of her blankets and bed and into a set of clothes that were too cold for her warmed skin—though more acceptable than the ratty clothes in which she slept. The house was quiet as she walked through. It was eerie, especially after the strange night, perhaps though no one was home at the moment.

“Jordan?” It was the voice of her mother. “Are you okay?” She was sitting on the couch, Morgan napping in the bend of the sectional and her dad was stretched out in his recliner while Bridget sat on the carpet playing whatever video game Morgan had left in the console.

“Yeah.” Jordan said simply. She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t want to show how upset she was about the whole awkward situation.

“Morgan said you were upset about last night.” James said, eyes closed, from his laid back position.

He was talking about that without even looking at her. If she felt bad before, now she felt almost sick. Nausea had not crept up on her, like in the rare times she’d been ill, and assaulted her senses.

“I’m fine now. So it doesn’t matter.” But it did matter. Closing up, that’s what she did instead of talking about the negative feelings she experienced. It was easier and it wasn’t the responsibility of others to deal with her feelings. Jordan also didn’t know what she would do if her family really was going to start treating her with the same disdain as her father’s side.

James did open his eyes when those words left her mouth.

“You’ve never left and not said goodbye to me at work or ignored me. It was a shock.”

She was met with silence and Jordan felt the familiar flutter of anxious butterflies in her stomach. Okay. Maybe it was just because her parents had babied her for so long. Maybe it was because they had always been pillars of support in hard times; so maybe she didn’t know how parents usually behaved. But the sick feeling rising in her throat and the memory of her sisters words from the night echoed in her mind like déjà vu.

“I’m going to be late for class.” She said suddenly, panicked. She left the house in a flurry, grabbing only her essentials and peeling from the driveway before her family could see the emotions threatening to pour from her.

Jordan didn’t go to class that day. Halfway to the college she felt the weight of the situation bearing on her and had to pull off onto the shoulder to wait out the panic. It was hard to breathe, even with the cool air blowing from the vents. The tight feeling of dread refused to leave her chest. How long had it been since she’d last had a panic attack? Years she wished she could say. But despite her parents encouragement she did feel the onset of them, usually when on the way to school or during class.

It wasn’t like that in high school. She had always been excited to go, but in adulthood she dreaded it. For what reason was she in school? If neither her family nor parents cared then why did she try? Jordan didn’t want to think of her parents. She didn’t want to let her anxiety cause her imagination to run wild. That was probably the whole problem. Sure her sister had wolf eyes—or something—but that didn’t bother her as much as the weird situation she’d put herself in.

“Hey!” It was a familiar voice, muffled through the tempered glass of the window. “Are you okay?”

Looking up was a mistake, even if it was an automatic reaction. The shocked eyes of the teen from the night before were peering in at her. Jordan rolled the window down, wiping her face quickly.

“I’m fine.” Jordan answered. “It’s just a panic attack.”

The boy frowned further. “’Panic and attack’ are not very good words alone. Together is like saying ‘it’s just a knife wound’ or something.”

Despite herself Jordan snorted and smiled a little. “Knife wounds and Panic attacks aren’t quite the same thing. I’m not going to die from anxiety, a knife wound however?”

“Come on dude!” he said. “Gimmie this! I’m trying to be cool and supportive.”

“Thank you for the effort.” Jordan said. “I appreciate it.”

“Do you need a ride anywhere?”

“Aren’t you too young to drive?” Jordan eyed the boy. “How are you even here?”

The boy groaned. “Ugh, I’m eighteen! I can drive. My brother is the one driving today, but I can totally drive!” He said.

His brother? Vaguely she could recall the intimidating man who had been seated between the mother and the boy standing at her car window. He’d looked pissed the entire night and was intimidating in stature. Great. Jordan put more effort into controlling her breathing. If she seemed better there was a better chance that he would leave her alone.

“Oh, you look like a baby.” Jordan said.

The boy huffed. “I definitely resemble that.” He leaned in, resting his arms on the door. “You’re not really okay, are you?” he asked. “You seem like you’re getting more anxious with us here.”

“It’s nothing personal. I just don’t know you, I don’t know your names.” Jordan looked away. “And my little sister is a gossip so I get her side of things a lot. She doesn’t like your family very much.”

“Ah, well, neither do we.” The boy frowned a little. “I’m Michael. My brother is John, my twin is Michelle, and my parents are assholes.”

Jordan was quiet for a long moment, taking in the small amount of information. It was the appearance of these people that had possibly caused the odd shift in her family, but this boy seemed to be okay, or at least trying to not be terrible as Morgan had claimed they were. The night before she’d told Morgan that not everyone was going to be nice on the first meeting, but the boy in her window had been nice, at least with the limited interaction they’d shared.

“Are you doing anything today?” Michael asked. “Your car was sitting here when we drove up to the college and still here when we left.”

“Huh?” Jordan looked up quickly.

“John took me to see the campus, so you’ve been here for at least an hour.” He said. “Come on, we’re going to get food, come with us. It’ll be fun.”

Shaking her head Jordan offered a thankful look to him. “No, I’m too anxious for that right now. Really I should just go home and sleep it off.”

“Get in the car.” A deeper voice—the voice she’d heard saying _pathetic_ the night before—came from behind the younger man. “You’re not fit to drive. Michael can follow us back in your car.”

The tightness in Jordan’s chest grew as the man drew closer. He wasn’t approachable like his younger brother who, though tall, had a laid back look about him and a grin on his face. They looked similar, same sun darkened skin and thick dark hair, similar heights, but that’s where the similarities ended. Certainly they had the same shaped eyes or nose, but the stern look on the older brother’s face, the thicker frame and more professional dress made her nervous. She didn’t think they would hurt her but she was still uneasy.

“Relax, we’re not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to.” John said, his voice just as stern as his face. “If you try to drive like this you or someone else might get hurt.”

He was right of course but Jordan really didn’t want to hear it. Still, the idea of hurting someone due to her carelessness was…Unpleasant at best. Unbuckling herself, Jordan stepped from the vehicle, tired physically and emotionally distraught. In that moment it felt as if her world had fallen to pieces. She was relying on those who’d caused the chasm within her family.

Reluctantly, Jordan got into his car.


End file.
